Just One More Boy to Care For
by DianaStorm09
Summary: A collection of stories revolving around Mycroft Holmes as Uncle to Sherlock and Molly's children. Chapter 1: Molly goes into early labor, while Sherlock is gone on a mission for Mycroft, forcing Mycroft to take care of his brother's wife and child. Chapter 2: Mummy Holmes celebrates her birthday, forcing Mycroft to spend time with his family.
1. Chapter 1

**Just One More Boy to Care For**

 **A big thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and favorited my previous Sherlock Fic "The Pain of Saying Goodbye" – I cried buckets while writing it but never anticipated that I would elicit the same emotions in any of you readers. I was very humbled by your reviews and messages, thank you!**

 **This fic revolves around Mycroft for a large part, it was not entirely planned like this; his character just really started to grow on me as I wrote this one-shot, so I expanded on him to a larger extent than planned. I hope you enjoy this story.**

 **A note of caution: I'm a non-native speaker of English living in the United States, so please forgive me for any mistakes and for potentially mixing up British and American English words/expressions.**

 **I don't own any of these characters.**

Mycroft Holmes sipped from his cup of tea and carefully placed it back on its saucer before turning his attention to the report he was reading on a potential conflict brewing in Asia. It was a Friday evening; most people have long left their offices to kick off the weekend, but Mycroft Holmes was not like most people. No, he certainly wasn't _ordinary_ like the multitude of folks who toiled all week in jobs they loathed only to looking forward to a couple of days of fun and relaxation with their families and friends. Mycroft didn't care for any of the R &R nonsense! After all, he was holding a minor position in the British Government, a position that came with responsibilities he never took lightly. He had neither place nor interest for friends in his life. And family meant mostly obligation to him; the weekly phone-call with his parents that usually involved Mummy reminding him he wasn't getting any younger and that he should consider settling down with a nice woman _("Just look at how Molly has changed your brother's life!")_ ; and the visits once a month that were only bearable since his mother would cook lamb chops, his favorite, and sometimes even make her infamous apple turnovers. Well, and then there was the biggest obligation of them all: Sherlock. However, while Mycroft liked to make his displeasure for having to keeping tabs on his brother known, deep inside he knew that he didn't do it out of a sense of duty. Behind his many layers of smug disguises Mycroft was hiding his biggest secret; despite his mantra that caring was not an advantage, there was one person in the world for whom he cared very deeply, his younger brother. That fact would never change, no matter how antagonistic Sherlock was around him, often resenting his overbearing brother and enjoying making Mycroft's life difficult on purpose at times.

Mycroft took another sip from his tea cup when he heard a knock on the door. "Yes, come in," he said. It was his assistant, Anthea.

"Sir, your brother's wife just called," she said.

Mycroft frowned in surprise, as his sister-in-law was generally not bothering Anthea or him with calls.

"If she's wondering when my brother will be back, she should know I can't answer that question."

"Actually, Sir, she wanted to let you know that she went into labor and took a cab to St. Bart's. She didn't know if it would endanger the mission if she contacted Sherlock, so she has not informed him yet."

Mycroft's head shot up. The due date's four more weeks away, what happened for Molly to go into labor so early? There was no history of early labor in either family, and Molly has had a healthy pregnancy. So healthy that Mycroft had not had any qualms asking his brother to go on a short mission to Spain. Sherlock, not wanting to leave his wife, finally relented when Molly told him that she and the baby were fine and that it was ok for him to take the case that wasn't supposed to take more than a few days to resolve.

Mycroft quickly got up from behind his desk and told Anthea: "Please immediately arrange for a plane to be on standby from Madrid. I will inform my brother to abort the mission and come home."

"Consider it done, Sir. Should I get the car for you to go to St Bart's?"

Mycroft thought for a moment. Since he was the one insisting for Sherlock to take on this case in Spain, even though his brother had been extremely reluctant to leave the UK with his wife in the last weeks of her pregnancy, Mycroft had made assurances that he would be looking out for his sister-in-law. He gave his promise based on his calculation that Sherlock wouldn't be gone from England for more than two or three days. Mycroft now chided himself, he should have known that things would never go to plan when his brother and his offspring were involved. Sherlock and John Watson, who had accompanied Sherlock to the continent, have been gone for five days already and have not yet been able to track down the assassin who killed the CEO of Spain's largest broadcasting corporation. So Mycroft was stuck with the unfortunate duty to look after his brother's wife who was probably writhing in labor pains.

Exhaling dramatically, he told Anthea that yes, he was going to St Bart's. As he grabbed his coat and umbrella, he dialed his brother's mobile, but Sherlock didn't answer. Sighing in frustration, he contemplated sending a text, but dismissed the idea due to the nature of the news. So he dialed John Watson's mobile, and John did indeed answer it upon the first ring.

"Mr Watson, could you please inform my brother that his wife is in transit to St Bart's hospital to deliver his child? You may assure him I will be heading to the hospital myself at this point. Tell him to abort the mission and come home. Anthea will be in touch with the details on your return flight."

John, standing next to Sherlock in a dark alley in the midst of Madrid as they were following the slain CEO's long-time business partner, was clearly taken aback: "But, but it's too early…" he started to say.

Mycroft cut him off: "I trust you will relay my message to Sherlock. See you at the hospital."

* * *

By the time the car arrived at the hospital, Mycroft had received 53 frantic text messages by his brother. For a large part, Sherlock was hurling insults at Mycroft for sending him to Spain when his wife needed him the most, but in the later messages he almost pleaded with his brother for updates on Molly and the baby. Mycroft decided to let his brother stew a little longer. He just sent a text to Anthea, thanking her as she confirmed that she had arranged for the private plane that was waiting for Sherlock and John at the Madrid airport, and she shortly after confirmed that Sherlock and John were en route to said airport.

Mycroft walked into the hospital and was directed to the maternity ward on the third floor. When he reached the reception area and introduced himself, the nurse's eyes lit up: "Your wife has just been admitted, she will be happy to see you."

"Molly Holmes is my brother's wife," he said a little haughtily, as the thought of Molly as his wife was just too absurd. The nurse smiled at him kindly.

"Well, that's really nice of you to come here for your sister-in-law, she will be happy to have some company. She's a wee bit anxious actually about the labor setting in a few weeks early. You will find her over there, the third door on the left."

Mycroft thanked the woman curtly and approached the room slowly. When he entered, he saw Molly on a bed, with a large belt around her bare belly, attached to machines that measured the baby's heart beat and Molly's contractions. He noticed Molly was pretty much reduced to wearing her underwear, and Mycroft uncomfortably tried to ignore the amount of pale bare skin he saw.

"Hello, Molly," Mycroft said, standing a little awkwardly at the door.

Molly, upon seeing her brother-in-law, hastily drew the blanket that was loosely draped across her legs all the way up to her belly, as she really didn't want Sherlock's brother to have a mental image of her in her pregnancy knickers whenever he saw her going forward. Then she tried to grab her sweater that was neatly folded on the chair next to her, but Mycroft was faster and handed it to her, trying to avert his glance while holding it out to Molly.

"Thanks Mycroft," she said quietly and quickly covered up her upper body with it. Mycroft sat down in the chair, and wondered once again how his brother's wife could have such a poor sense of style, as she spread that bright yellow sweater with green apples pattern across her chest. Sherlock obviously didn't object for his wife to dress like an elementary school girl.

"Mycroft," Molly started, "How come you are here?"

"Apparently I'm keeping you company until my dear brother arrives," Mycroft responded, keeping his gaze fixed on Molly's face, still not comfortable with the sight of Molly's large uncovered baby belly.

Molly looked a little timidly at her brother-in-law. He didn't seem particularly thrilled at being here with her, and truth be told, she wanted Sherlock to hold her hand right now, or at least her mother-in-law, in absence of her own mum. At the thought of how much she actually needed her late mother right now, tears came to her eyes, which she tried blinking away but Mycroft still noticed them. To Molly's surprise, he didn't sigh or roll his eyes in exasperation of her displaying emotions. Instead, he assured her quietly: "Sherlock is with John Watson on a private plane bound for England right now. I'm sure he'll be here by the time the baby comes, and I'll watch out for you and his baby in the meantime. I will leave it to him to inform our parents once his baby has arrived."

"Our baby," Molly corrected him with a small smile, as she wiped the tears away.

"Our?" Mycroft looked at her, a crease forming between his eyebrows to show his confusion.

"You said 'his' baby, but actually, it's Sherlock's and mine," Molly explained, with a little mischievous sparkle in her eyes for correcting her brother-in-law, who always had to be right.

Mycroft looked down at her haughtily: "Of course it's yours, too, I don't need a degree in medicine to know how a baby is conceived."

"But maybe you'd need a woman in your life," Molly teased, her smile widening as she noticed a little bit of color spreading on Mycroft's cheeks.

"It seems that you and Mummy have been spending too much time together," he said stiffly.

Molly laughed, but a moment later her face contorted in pain.

"Well, there's no doubt it's Sherlock's child, it's as impatient as him," she said and then took some shallow breaths. Mycroft got up to take a closer look at the graph that was measuring her contractions.

"Why is nobody in here to monitor the baby's heartbeat and your contractions? I should at least expect a nurse in here with you, if not even a doctor. After all, you work at St Bart's, and you are a Holmes now! I will make some phone calls right now."

Molly smiled, as moments like these when Mycroft reminded her of Sherlock were quite rare.

"Please Mycroft, there's no need. My OBGYN is in Glasgow for a wedding this weekend, so we will need to work with the doctor on duty, and the nurse pops in every ten or fifteen minutes. If I need anything, I can just push the button here."

Mycroft was not pleased with her answer, but seeing that Molly was going through another wave of contraction pain, he felt it best not to argue.

"Why don't you sit down again?" Molly suggested, a little breathless as she was trying to cope with the pain. So Mycroft sat down, his upper body held up rigidly while his hands rested on the umbrella in front of him, looking with a mixture of guilt and bewilderment at the petite woman in front of him.

Even though he was not willing to admit it to anyone, Mycroft had a high level of respect for his sister-in-law. She had proven herself 100% trustworthy when assisting Sherlock to fake his own death, and never once slipped up in the two years it took Sherlock to dismantle Moriaty's network. More than that, in the past few years, this quiet woman that was so easily overlooked by everyone had shown an amount of inner strength and courage Mycroft had never expected from her, and somehow she managed to break down the fortress his brother has built to shield his heart, and made herself a home in it. At first, Mycroft was furious for Sherlock to allow himself to become so weak to not only have friends but also fall in love with this woman and marry her. Yet ultimately he realized how good Molly was for Sherlock. She knew how to handle his difficult brother, and she did it extremely well to the extent that Sherlock was much less of a danger to himself and others, and less of a nuisance to his older brother. Further, from the moment Sherlock first introduced Molly as his fiancée to their surprised parents, Molly has filled an emotional void left by the brilliant yet rather detached Holmes brothers. Mummy Holmes came to London frequently to have tea or dinner with her daughter-in-law, or to catch a show in the West End. Once Sherlock and Molly broke the news of them expecting the baby, an overjoyed Mummy had been actively involved in setting up the nursery in John's former bedroom and she and Molly spent many hours in baby stores. And here she was, a small yet courageous woman not complaining about the huge pain she was in as she was about to give birth to the first Holmes baby in the family since his own brother has been born.

"Can I at least ask the nurse to get you anything against the pain?" Mycroft asked.

Through gritted teeth, Molly tried to make light of the situation: "I think it's ok, Mycroft. Thank you for asking though. I will make sure to pay her back in 16 years when she wants to go on a date and I won't let her stay out past 10:30!" Then another thought occurred to her: "If she ever gets to go on a date! Sherlock will probably insist on deducing every boy who asks our daughter out, scaring them all away. I know his methods from my own failed dating attempts!" At that, Molly laughed a little, but then made a face again.

"Your daughter? It's a girl then?" Mycroft asked.

Molly smiled sheepishly. "Well, we don't know yet, but I think it's going to be a girl, while Sherlock is convinced it's a boy. We have a bet that who is wrong has to take over nappy duties for the first month of her life."

"Or his," Mycroft added, trying to be humorous.

"Or his," she repeated with another mischievous sparkle in her eyes. Mycroft smiled for a moment but shortly after sprang to his feet, with a frown on his face, as he noticed that the baby's heartbeat which he had heard loud and strong before was decelerating and growing weaker.

Molly, noticing the deceleration and weaker heartbeat as well, looked up at her brother-in-law with a frightened expression: "Mycroft, do you think the baby's ok?"

In an effort not to alarm Molly, Mycroft gave her a little smile and said kindly: "I think the monitor needs to be readjusted by the nurse as the baby probably moved. I will go and get her."

And Mycroft Holmes, rushed to alert the nurse to come to the room right away, leaving behind Molly who felt tears coming to her eyes.

* * *

Things went incredibly fast from there, as the nurse alarmed the doctor who determined that the baby was in distress and that Molly had to undergo an emergency c-section. Mycroft, banned to the waiting area of the hallway, pulled out his mobile, and sighed when he saw the 107 new messages from his brother, the last dozen or so typed in all caps demanding for Mycroft to respond. Mycroft swallowed and typed a message to Sherlock: "Start acting like a grown-up, you are going to be a father very soon. Focus on getting here safely for the sake of your wife and child."

Then he texted John: "Baby was in distress - Molly in emergency c-section right now. Do not tell my brother, just make sure you two get here as soon as you can."

Then, he reached out to Anthea to give her a heads-up and to request for a police escort from the airport to St. Bart's to assure Sherlock will be with his family as quickly as possible.

As he and Anthea texted back and forth for while, he didn't notice the nurse that approached him holding a screaming infant. Mycroft looked up and realized she was approaching him, so he put his mobile in his pocket and took a few steps towards the nurse. Without any warning, she placed the small, incredibly loud bundle into his arms.

"Congratulations, Mr Holmes, it's a healthy little boy," the nurse said. Mycroft, in obvious discomfort, held out the crying baby for her to take back, but the nurse gave no indication that she was planning on taking the baby from him. "Do you by any chance know the name his parents had chosen?"

"I regret I don't, you will need to ask my sister-in-law or my brother when he gets here," Mycroft said, while wondering how he could give the baby to the nurse without being impolite.

The nurse seemed oblivious to his bewilderment and said: "That's no problem, he will go by Baby Holmes for now. The little guy had a bit of a traumatic start as the umbilical cord was wrapped around him several times and got too compressed for oxygen to get through, which caused the deceleration in his heart rate. His mummy is still in the OR, so you are one lucky uncle to be the first who gets to cuddle with this little man."

Mycroft raised his eye-brows in alarm at the word _cuddle_. He helplessly looked down at the red, wrinkled creature wrapped into a blanket and wearing a small hat on top of a head full with dark hair, still screaming at the top of its lungs. Mycroft asked the nurse: "Is there any damage from the oxygen deprivation?"

The nurse laughed: "Your nephew scored a perfect 10 in the Apgar test, I don't think there's anything you and your family need to worry about. He's a bit on the light side since he was born a few weeks early, but that's perfectly normal."

"And my sister-in-law?" Mycroft asked, starting to rock the bundle in his arms in the attempt to get the crying to stop.

"She's fine, we have emergency c-sections like this quite often, her life was never in danger. The doctor is stitching her up right now and we will then move her to the recovery room. We will get you before she wakes up."

"Thank you," Mycroft said.

The nurse started walking away with a smile, leaving Mycroft behind with his little protégé. Mycroft realized that Sherlock's son felt comfortably warm in his arms, and so incredibly tiny. He took in the little details, the shape of his nose and ears, the density of the dark hair on his head, the tiny toes on the protuding little feet, and then, when the little guy managed to free one of his arms out of the blanket, Mycroft smiled at the slender fingers on the tiny hand.

"You look very much like your father," he said, gently pushing the little arm back under the wraps of the blanket and pulling the folds together a bit tighter to make sure his nephew was keeping warm.

The little guy finally seemed to calm down at the words of his uncle. His baby-blue eyes closed and his breathing became even and deep. As he looked at the now peaceful baby in his arms, Mycroft smiled:

"Very well, there's really no need to cry, your father is on his way to meet you, and your mummy will wake up very soon from her surgery. For now, I will watch out for you," Mycroft continued.

Holding Sherlock's son reminded Mycroft of the day when he first met his newborn brother, as red and wrinkled as his baby looked now. Their father had brought Mycroft to the hospital to see Mummy after giving birth. Sherlock was crying when Mycroft first entered the room, the sound was so annoying to Mycroft who even as a child liked quiet solitude better than noisy kids parties. To make things worse, Mummy and Daddy suggested he'd take a seat and then they put the crying baby into their older son's arms.

"Just make sure to support his head, dear," Mummy said.

Mycroft sighed and held the baby, looking down at the ugly creature and saying: "Hello Sherlock. I'm Mycroft, your brother." After he had introduced himself formally, miraculously, baby Sherlock calmed down, and Mummy and Daddy Holmes exchanged happy glances.

"He knows that he's safe with you," Daddy Holmes explained, hoping that the attempt to help their aloof older son to bond with at least one person in his life would succeed. Mycroft scoffed at his father's words, but Mummy pressed a kiss on Mycroft head, ignoring his complaints that he was too old for kisses, and she said: "He's lucky to always have you to watch out for him."

Mycroft initially resented how his parents imposed his baby brother on him. But then, as Sherlock grew up, Mycroft noticed that the impatient and dramatic little boy actually possessed a tremendously smart and perceptive mind, a mind that was getting increasingly confused as little Sherlock soon realized he was not like other children. Many times, Sherlock came home wearing battle wounds on his body and tear stains on his face. He would never tell their parents what happened, but he would confide in his brother, telling him of the names other kids called him when Sherlock had shown off his deductive skills. Mycroft noticed that he was affected emotionally by the cruelties his little brother suffered at the hands of other children. If only Sherlock was more like him, not so sensitive, not so eager to display his brilliant mind to others. So Mycroft decided to teach Sherlock to protect himself, to stop caring about the actions and words of others. It was during that time Mycroft realized that he deeply cared for Sherlock.

Mycroft looked up as the double doors to the maternity ward were pushed open with extreme vigor, and as expected, the tall figure that came through the door with his coat dramatically flapping behind him was his brother. Sherlock was about to approach the nurse's desk when he saw his brother in the hallway. For a fleeting moment, his eyes narrowed as he spotted the bundle in Mycroft's arms, and then his gaze met Mycroft's.

"Molly?" he asked quietly. Mycroft suppressed a sigh. His brother has become so weak at keeping his emotions hidden as far as Molly was concerned! Every fool could see that he was scared for his wife right now. Mycroft walked towards Sherlock and explained: "Molly is fine, she just hasn't woken up yet from the anesthesia they gave her for the emergency C-section. Your son has, might I say, inherited your flair for dramatic entries."

"My son," Sherlock said, and it almost sounded like a question. Mycroft held out the baby for his brother to take a look at.

"Congratulations, you're a father now." Sherlock met his brother's gaze as the words sunk in; he was now responsible for this little man that slept so soundly in his brother's arms. Sherlock hesitated reaching out for him. Mycroft didn't miss his brother's uncertainty and rolled his eyes: "Go ahead and take him, you won't break him, just like you haven't broken little Miss Watson when you've held her."

So Sherlock nodded and carefully took the baby from Mycroft and cradled him in his arms, smiling down at the peaceful little face.

"He is – so small," Sherlock said softly.

"With lungs of a grown-up, he has been annoying me for the first half an hour of his life already."

Sherlock grinned at his son: "Well done. " He pressed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead.

There was suddenly commotion of rapidly approaching footsteps. John and Lestrade reached the Holmes brothers, out of breath, looking in awe at the sight of Sherlock holding his baby.

"What took you so long?" Sherlock quipped, not waiting for an answer as he proudly announced: "John, Gareth, this is my son Jonathan."

"A boy? Congratulations mate," John said, a big grin on his face.

"Jonathan?" Mycroft asked, with a frown.

"You didn't expect us to name him Mycroft, did you?" Sherlock sneered.

"Why not call him John?" Lestrade asked, still huffing and puffing from the run.

"Molly had this sentimental notion of naming our son after her late father." Sherlock responded curtly.

"What made you give in to such a sentimental request?" Mycroft asked incredulously.

"She made a very convincing case," Sherlock muttered, thinking fondly of the heart, spleen and liver Molly had brought home for him to experiment on.

"Jonathan sounds close enough to John for me, " John said good-naturedly. He took a quick picture on his phone and said: "Mary will be so happy, and so will Julia for having someone to play with. I'll send them this image right away."

"John, do you think it's appropriate for your wife to see Jonathan before his own mother has seen him?" Sherlock scolded his best friend.

John looked a little guilty. "Molly's still in recovery?" he asked, looking from Sherlock to Mycroft. Mycroft nodded.

"Jonathan and I will now go and find her. She should see her son when she wakes up, I hope she won't cry when she realizes she is on four weeks of exclusive nappy duty," Sherlock said with a triumphant grin, then he walked down the hallway.

Lestrade looked after him fondly. He would have never thought of seeing Sherlock as a father. "What a precious little guy, he has quite a bit of Molly in him, especially the nose and mouth."

Mycroft's forehead creased and his lips turned into a thin-lipped smile. "You must not have had a good look at my nephew, he looks very much like Sherlock when he was born."

John and Greg just shrugged and then pulled out their phones. Mycroft looked after his brother, who had just been directed to the recovery room. With his back turned to John and Lestrade, neither of them saw the small hint of warmth that was in Mycroft's pale eyes. He pulled out his phone and texted Anthea to immediately increase security around St. Bart's maternity ward and to do the same at 221B Baker Street as soon as Molly and Jonathan were released from the hospital.

Mycroft decided to head to the recovery room as well. He took a glimpse inside and saw that his sister-in-law must just have woken up, with Sherlock sitting beside her on the bed, his long arms wrapped around his wife to help support her arms as she held Jonathan. Neither of them noticed Mycroft peeking in from the door, both of them completely enraptured by the little miracle they have created.

So Mycroft walked away, swinging his umbrella playfully as we walked down the hallway. Jonathan Holmes, he thought with a smile. Just one more boy for him to care for. And he'd do it gladly.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: My work has been in the way of my writing for almost one year, but I've recently decided to claim my life back, started a new job and now am happy to share with you this continuation of "Just One More Boy to Care For". I hope you enjoy it.**

 **My apologies for any mistakes, I'm an non-native speaker of English living in the US.**

 **Lastly, I don't own the characters other than Jonathan Holmes and Aunt Esther. Enjoy!**

Mycroft Holmes picked up his phone to check his emails, sitting on his bed in his childhood room one Saturday night. After spending a whole day with his parents and the extended family to celebrate Mummy's birthday, Mycroft felt he's had more than his share of tiresome small talk with uncles, aunts and cousins he had not seen in years. As far as he was concerned, Mycroft could very well go on without ever talking again to these annoying dimwits who kept referring to him as Mikey and reminisced on what a chubby boy he has been growing up. Mycroft had only consented to coming since it was Mummy's birthday, her 75th to be exact, and her only wish was for her children, which now also included Molly and baby Jonathan, to spend the entire birthday weekend with Mummy and her guests.

Now a large part of the festivities were behind them. After showing his utmost restraint at a catered brunch in the family's garden, as well as when tea and cake was served in the afternoon, and the elaborate sit down dinner the in the evening, Mycroft was cranky about wasting his time with these people while denying himself the pleasure of food. Looking at his phone, Mycroft was thinking that surely there would have to be a crisis somewhere that would require his personal attention so he had to return to London, far away from his parents' house and back to his fully stocked refrigerator. But when he checked his messages, there was absolutes nothing! As a last resort, Mycroft texted his assistant, Anthea, in the hope she had anything that would give him an out, but Anthea's prompt response smashed his hopes. He sighed very deeply in disappointment and put his phone on the small night table next to his bed.

What was there to do for him? He didn't need to look around to notice that nothing has changed in his childhood abode since he moved out decades ago. Feeling his body sink in deeper into the mattress than he was used from his bed in London, Mycroft thought his parents could have at least replaced the bed after all these years, but then, it would have been rather wasteful since he rarely ever had reason to sleep at his parents' house anymore. Truth be told, Mycroft had actually only agreed to staying for an entire weekend fully counting on being able to sleep in the larger and newer bed in the guest bedroom. He was therefore dismayed to learn upon his arrival that the room had been given to his aunt Esther, who had come in from Manchester to spend the week with her sister. Mycroft and Sherlock has been banished to sleep in their respective old bedrooms for the entire duration of their visit. In all fairness, Mycroft thought Sherlock had pulled the even shorter end of the stick, having to share the narrow bed of his youth with his wife Molly, while his 3-month-old son Jonathan was occupying a brand-new crib at the end of the bed. That crib Mummy and Daddy had bought just days after Jonathan was born. They made the investment since they wanted to make sure their beloved grandson had his own bed for the regular overnight visits Mummy demanded from Sherlock and Molly after Jonathan's birth.

Thinking of his nephew, Mycroft realized that the room next to his, where the family of three was sleeping, was eerily quiet, whereas from the guest room across the hallway he heard the loud snores from his aunt. Mycroft, being used to sleeping in his own quiet house, felt his irritation at the noise increase. Exasperated, he stared at into the darkness, and got annoyed with himself when he felt and heard the low grumble from his stomach. He chided himself about not having more of the roast chicken, at least the lean chicken breast! Mycroft only ate a small portion for at supper to avoid any comments by Sherlock or his skinny Aunt Esther about his lack of control. Maybe Sherlock wouldn't even have said anything this time, as he literally had his hands full holding Jonathan, just now and then nibbling on the food on his plate while Molly was eating for two.

Mycroft sighed. Since he couldn't sleep anyways, he decided he would head downstairs to the kitchen for the last slice of birthday cake Mummy had put in the fridge. He stealthily opened the door and tiptoed in the hallway past Sherlock's room, trying to avoid waking his brother, as Mycroft knew Sherlock would shamelessly exploit the opportunity to bring up Mycroft relapsing to his old habit of midnight snacking. Once Mycroft had reached the bottom of the stairs, he relaxed and walked on normally to the kitchen only to find it illuminated. Through the half open door, Mycroft spotted Sherlock sitting at the table across from Molly, who was holding their son in her arms and judging from her slightly bent over posture, nursing him, while Sherlock was reading out loud to his small son from one of their father's apiology books. It did not escape Mycroft's attention that the last slice of cake he had come down for sat half eaten on a plate in front of Molly. He swallowed his disappointment and was contemplating to return back to his room when his brother interrupted his reading and looked up at him: "For God's sake Mycroft, you can come in, Molly insisted on fully covering up around here."

Mycroft stepped in and cautiously glanced towards Molly's direction, who had indeed spread a large piece of cloth over herself that covered her upper body and little Jonathan fully while she nursed him. The little color that spread on his sister-in-law's cheeks though revealed that just like Mycroft, she had not forgotten the incident that happened when Jonathan was just a few days old.

That day Mycroft had come by 221B Baker Street to find his brother bent over his microscope.

"Should you not spend your time with your newborn son?" Mycroft asked, as he pulled off his gloves and took off his coat and scarf.

"Molly is perfectly capable of taking care of our son. Besides, she asked me to give her and Jonny some 'quiet time'. " He used his fingers for air quotation marks, while pouting like a four year old.

Mycroft decided not to entertain his brother's antics. "Oh, has my sister-in-law finally discovered she had two babies to take care of?"

Sherlock shot him an angry glance and turned his attention back to the microscope.

"They are both in Johnny's room, you can go upstairs to see them as long a you remain 'quiet'," Sherlock suggested somewhat lightly, and Mycroft narrowed his eyes for a moment about the missing testiness he would have expected from his brother for calling him in a baby. However, Mycroft Holmes was secretly looking forward to seeing his nephew, so he walked up the stairs to John Watson's former room, contemplating what may have triggered his usually highly patient sister-in-law to ban Sherlock from the nursery. In retrospect, Mycroft ascribed his preoccupation with whatever small disagreement Sherlock and Molly must have had to miss waiting for a prompt to come in after his knock at the door. Thus, as he opened the door, unprompted, and stepped in, he was startled to see that Molly sitting in a rocking chair, her upper body fully exposed as she was just about to start nursing Jonathan. He round, almost tearful eyes looked up at her brother-in-law in shock and a deep crimson color starting spreading on her cheeks as she tried to cover her breasts with Jonathan's body. Mycroft, priding himself for his self-control, blushed furiously, and stammered: "Ex- excuse me, Molly, I – I – I didn't know you were –were," he waved his hand in front of his chest area as words failed him.

"I - I'm, Jonny's having trouble, trouble, with la – la – latching on," Molly stammered, looking down at her fussy baby who she expected to start crying at any moment from hunger. Sensing the distress in his sister-in-law, Mycroft fought the urge of stepping out of the room and asked kindly, looking pointedly towards the wall away from Molly: "Didn't you speak to a lactation consultant in hospital?"

Molly responded that she did, and that she managed fine with the help of the nurse while she was in hospital. However, since coming home, she was having trouble. Her voice broke and tears started to flow as Molly asked herself – and Mycroft- what kind of a mother she was if she could not even feed her own baby. To make matters worse, Jonathan was promptly starting to wail as well. Not knowing how to deal with this tidal wave of emotions, Mycroft did the only thing he could think off; use the wide resources available to him and call an expert. So Mycroft pulled out his phone and typed a quick message to his assistant to get the best lactation specialist of the country to 221B Baker Street immediately.

"Help is on the way," Mycroft said gently, before leaving the room and going down to chide his brother for sending him up to the nursery knowing that Molly was about to breastfeed the baby. Sherlock of course denied the accusations, but an evil shine in his eyes as he suggested Mycroft was overreacting as he had not seen woman's breasts since his own infancy made it obvious that Sherlock had paid Mycroft back for his earlier comment. Luckily, the specialist who showed up at 221B Baker Street within the same hour seemed to have helped. Baby Jonathan has been nursing well since then and was growing steadily, as Mycroft knew from the detailed reports he received from the pediatrician without Sherlock and Molly's knowledge.

Still, Mycroft had learned his lesson. Assured that Molly was fully covered up tonight, he allowed himself to look more closely at his sister-in-law. Of course she was wearing an atrocious cat-design pajama underneath the robe Mycroft had given her for Christmas. Given Molly's horrific taste in clothes, Mycroft had decided to make sure little Jonathan's clothes were of more tasteful colors and patterns, after all, he was a Holmes. He had his assistant buy an ample supply of sensible looking baby and toddler outfits to make sure Molly would not put anything ridiculous looking on his nephew. To a large part, Mycroft's plan had suceeded, except today, when Molly put an awful red outfit on the little boy which said "Granny's Favorite Cupcake". It sure made Mummy very happy, who barely would part with her grandson during the day, showing him off to all her family.

Molly, oblivious to his thoughts, smiled at him. "Mycroft, I hope we didn't wake you up when we came down here?"

Mycroft slowly approached the kitchen table and returned Molly's warm smile with one of his rare genuine smiles: "You didn't. I just couldn't sleep. Would you two fancy some more tea?"

He gestured at the cups in front of his brother and sister-in-law.

"Some more tea would be lovely," Molly responded. "Thank you Mycroft."

"No desire for cake, Mikey?" Sherlock asked, looking up from his book and grinning impertinently at his brother.

"Oh -," Molly said, looking at the half-eaten slice of cake in front of her. "I'm so sorry Mycroft, I wasn't thinking. Would you, would you like to finish it? I probably shouldn't eat any more than I already have today."

Mycroft, who had put the kettle on the stove, turned around to see if Molly was kidding, but she actually had a genuinely apologetic expression on her face as she looked up at him. With slightly colored cheeks, she continued: "Mycroft, please go ahead and eat it, I've had more than my share earlier today. If I keep going at this rate, I will never get back to my pre-pregnancy weight."

Mycroft mustered up a lot of inner strength as he responded: "No need to apologize, Molly, my dear brother was mistaken. I just came here for a cup of tea, not for some _left-over cake_." He pointedly looked at his brother, who just sniggered before turning his attention back to the book.

Molly, by now used to the quibbling brothers, took a peek under the cloth at her son who had stopped drinking and fallen asleep. She nimbly closed the clasp of her nursing bra, buttoned up her nightshirt before removing the cover and placing Jonathan's head against her shoulder, gently rubbing the infants' back in a circular motion while pressing a few kisses against the side of the baby's head and then sighing happily. Mycroft suppressed the urge to role his eyes at this superfluous display of sentiment. He was about to get up to take care of the tea as the water started to boil, but his sister-in-law got up at the same time: "Why don't you hold Jonathan while I make the tea?"

She held out the sleeping Jonathan to him and Mycroft didn't even try to refuse, despite his concerns for a renewed spit-up accident he encountered the last time he held Jonathan after a feeding, ruining his suit. This time, much wiser, he placed the baby's spit cloth on the shoulder as he had seen Molly do, after all, his silk pajamas and housecoat have been a gift from the Royal Family. Then he took his nephew and bedded him carefully against his shoulder, trying very hard to avoid for Jonathan to wake up and cry when he realized he was not in his mother's arms any longer. However, his nephew was unaffected by the transfer and kept his eyes shut and breathing pattern deep and steady. With Molly having her back turned to them while making tea, and Sherlock too engrossed in his book, Mycroft felt safe to take a closer look at his nephew's head with its messy, dark curls, resisting the urge to run his hand over the head to straighten them. He then turned his attention to one of the little fists that was resting against his chest. With the index finger of his free hand he lightly stroke the back of Jonathan's hand, prompting his nephew to open the hand and then reached out his finger towards the baby's palm. Jonathan grasped on to the finger tightly. Mycroft smiled.

"You do know that the palmar grasp reflex is a primitive reflex Jonathan shares with all infants his age, and not a sign of his advanced intellect, do you?" Sherlock asked, still not looking up from his book.

Molly, who had turned around, smiled and said: "Too bad I didn't bring my phone down with me, that would make for a sweet picture."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows in alarm; this woman certainly had the most bizarre ideas. He spoke rather curtly: "It's alright, Molly, none of us looks particularly photogenic at this hour."

His gaze didn't linger with his sister-in-law, but Molly immediately blushed, wrapping the robe she was wearing tighter around herself and then trying to straighten her hair with her hands.

"Molly, stop fidgeting. While Mycroft does not share your sense of style, he was clearly referring to himself just now, weren't you, Mikey?"

"Of course I was, brother-mine," he said, trying to smile sweetly at his sister-in law, as she started pouring tea into the cup in front of him before refilling Sherlock and her cups. She then sat down and asked Mycroft a little timidly: "I can take Jonathan back now."

Mycroft however gestured towards the cake. "He seems fine right now, so I can hold him a little longer while you enjoy the last bit of the cake."

Molly blinked in surprise, but then smiled and picked up the fork again. "Thanks, Mycroft."

She continued eating the cake, while Sherlock and Mycroft discussed the advantages or disadvantages of teaching Jonathan Mandarin before Spanish as his second language. Their discussion became so heated that Jonathan started to stir in Mycroft's arms and intermittently opened his eyes. Molly sighed and took her son from Mycroft, whispering soothingly about the two of them going to bed now. Mycroft felt a little lost for a moment after his nephew had been taken from him, the comfortable warmth emanating from the small body so suddenly gone. Not able to tear his eyes from Jonathan, Mycroft saw how Molly walked over to Sherlock, pressing a kiss on his head as she whispered "good night". To any observer, Sherlock's lack of response to his wife and son may have appeared cold and detached, but Mycroft saw so much more, the way Sherlock's eyelids remained closed for just a mili-second longer when Molly pressed the kiss on his head, how he almost imperceptibly leaned his head towards his wife's chest, and most obviously how his eyes stayed on her as she walked out of the kitchen with Jonathan in her arms.

"Oh brother-mine, how weak you have become," Mycroft sighed.

Sherlock smirked and glanced at Jonathan's spit cloth still draped over his brother's shoulder. "And so have you, Uncle Mycroft."


End file.
